


A Bit of Blood Never Hurt Anybody

by Anonymous6285



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Blood, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, George Harrison Is a Good Friend, Messy, Nosebleed, Sharing a Bed, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24837343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous6285/pseuds/Anonymous6285
Summary: Ringo gets a bad nosebleed while sleeping next to George.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	A Bit of Blood Never Hurt Anybody

**Author's Note:**

> Tw: blood but nobody’s hurt. Like not too much but it’s still talked about a lot.

George woke up in the middle of the night. He usually did, because of his weird schedule, but most of the time, he didn’t mind and was able to fall right back asleep. But this time, he felt something sticky in his hair and on the side of his face. Confused, he sat up just a bit, feeling as his hair stuck to the pillow he and Ringo were sharing. And then he shot up, the sticky substance feeling rather warm. And when he looked at where his head had been resting in the dark, he saw a large patch on the pillow.

Now worried, he reached over to turn on the light on the bedside table, and looking back at his friend, saw that there was a slow but steady stream of blood dripping out of his nose. Mucus was falling from his lips, but it also had hints of red in it. And that’s when he let out the loudest and longest scream he ever had in his life. 

“Richie!” he shouted, now in tears. The sight of all of that blood made bile rise in his throat. Suddenly, Ringo’s eyes flew open and he shot up in the bed, flinging blood all over the blanket covering them. But he seemed more worried about George, not even noticing what was making him scream yet.

“Geo, my god! What’s wrong?” Then, the guitarist lurched forward and promptly vomited all over the bloodied pillow. “Oh, christ!” As the younger man continued to vomit, Ringo noticed the blood. He put a finger up to his lip and felt the warm liquid still oozing out of him. So that’s what was wrong.

“R-Richie…” He had finally stopped throwing up and looked over to his friend, putting a hand on his cheek, just to be sure he was alive.

“I’m alright,” Ringo replied, seeing the way George’s wet hair was sticking to his face, coated in blood. “God, I’m so sorry.”

George shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine. I just… god, this is fucking scary. I-I thought you had died or something…” Now the blood was starting to drip past down his lips and dirtying his pyjama shirt. “God, let’s get you a tissue.”

The younger of the two began helping his friend out, despite Ringo’s repeated words that he could walk himself. And he did, keeping his hand cupped beneath his still dripping nose as he hobbled over to the hotel toilet. When inside, he leaned over the sink, and George followed.

“Shouldn’t you lean back or something?”

The drummer only shook his head. “No, it’s not good to swallow it. It usually stops after a few minutes, anyways.”

“Usually?” Ringo nodded. “What do you mean? Do you get them a lot?”

“I mean, the air is getting kind of dry for winter. So yeah, I suppose.”

George let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, god. I thought I had hit you or something.” More tears ran down his face, mixing in with the blood still staining his cheek.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Georgie. You didn’t. Even if you had, I wouldn’t mind. Less you did it on purpose, of course.” He chuckled, which George found strange since he still had blood dripping from his nose. It was slowing down, though. George crept up on his side, and Ringo glanced at his face now in the bathroom light, much brighter than their lamp.

“You should probably wash off your face.”

“Really? Didn’t even cross my mind,” he laughed. “I’ll let you get cleaned up first.” Ringo nodded, and George just studied him. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“No. It can be scary sometimes, but I’ve had a lot over the years, so they don’t really bother me much, anymore.” He reached his hand over and grabbed a tissue from the tissue box, wetting it in the sink and wiping off his face. He saw that little to no blood was even coming out anymore and then looked over at George and winced. He got another tissue and started to wipe off his face, too.

“I can do that, Rich.”

“My mess…” the drummer mumbled, continuing to dab at his face. George didn’t argue with him.

“What are we going to do about the bed?” He glanced over to see that the blood stain had completely saturated the pillow and droplets of blood were found all the way down the white blanket. Not to mention the vomit cooling on George’s side of the bed.

“We’ll have to go get Brian. God, he’s gonna be so mad.”

“No, he won’t. Not your fault the air is so bloody dry.” Ringo pulled the tissue away from George’s face.

“Think we should clean your hair before we go get him?” George shook his head with a grin. “Let’s go scare him, then.”

-

Brian groaned when he heard a knock at his door at four in the morning. Who the hell was even up this late? Early? But when he opened the door, he saw George and Ringo standing there. George’s face, although not bloody anymore, still had a blood stain on it, and his hair was still soaked. 

So the scream that Brian let out then was a completely natural response. “What the fuck? God, are you okay? What happened? Are you cut or something--”

“Everything’s fine,” Ringo cut in. “I had a nosebleed, and it got all over the bed, so we were just wondering what exactly we were supposed to do about that…

Brian narrowed his eyes at him, mostly because of the lights out in the hall. “Christ…”

“And George vomited on the pillow.”

Brian chuckled. “Only you two could make such a mess. God. Just come on in. George, why don’t you go wash your hair, and you can sleep in here for tonight. I’ll fix up your bed in the morning.”

They both nodded and scurried into the room as Brian laid a few blankets and pillows on the floor. Ringo laid down on them as George went into the toilet and turned on the sink, starting to finally clean the blood out of his hair.

“Thanks, Brian,” Ringo said as their manager got back into bed.

“No problem at all. Wake me up if you need anything. Goodnight, boys.”

“Night,” George called from the bathroom.

“Night.” 

George was back a few minutes later and crawled down on the blankets next to Ringo. He curled up against the man and smiled. “Glad you’re okay, Rich.”


End file.
